


Uniform

by kirakira_nanoda



Series: Sherlock's military kinks [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Military Kink, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:22:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirakira_nanoda/pseuds/kirakira_nanoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John indulges in Sherlock's military kink</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uniform

John takes a deep breath and stands up tall, trying his best to ignore the flutter in his chest and the fact that his usual steady hand is shaking. His uniform still fits, albeit a bit snug, but he doesn’t think that matters too much. He doubts he will be wearing it for long.

 

He steps into the sitting room and strides over to the armchair Sherlock is curled up in, standing in front of his lover, feet shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind his back. Sherlock perks up at the sound of John’s combat boots on the hard wooden floor, barely muffled by the worn rug, and he drifts his gaze lazily up from his book. John has never seen Sherlock lose interest in a book so quick.

 

John keeps his gaze dead ahead, a neutral expression on his face as Sherlock stands up and just stares at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. Sherlock looks like he wants to reach out to him, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch and as such just freezes, like a rabbit caught in a headlamp, and just stares.

 

John risks shooting a side glance at Sherlock, catching his gaze and holding it, his nerves dying away at the sight of Sherlock’s intense interest. He looks completely enchanted. God, this was going to go better than John could have ever hoped for.

 

John slides his gaze away from Sherlock again but continues to watch him from the corner of his eye, inwardly smiling as Sherlock appears to have lost all coherent thought.

 

‘John…’ Sherlock breathes before abandoning the sentence in favour of raking his gaze over John. He goes to take a step forward before thinking better of it, reaching out instead to touch John’s shoulder, as though he can’t believe he is really wearing the uniform without feeling it for himself.

 

Sherlock gasps as John catches his wrist, stopping his hand from reaching its intended destination, and John can feel Sherlock’s body trembling slightly underneath his fingertips.

 

 John looks at him again and decides to go a step further. _Become_ the man behind the uniform as it were.

 

‘You’re lucky I found you,’ John says summoning up his military voice. ‘All the other civilians have been evacuated.’

 

Sherlock’s eyes widen as he catches onto John’s role play, and he clears his throat, clearly wishing to join in on this act but all he manages is, ‘Oh,’ which sounds like neither a question nor a statement and it takes all of John’s effort not to laugh at Sherlock’s scrambled brain.

 

‘You do realize there is a war on?’ John asks, harshly. ‘You are in a very dangerous position here.’

 

Sherlock’s eye lids flutter and his breathing gets a little faster. ‘I’m surviving,’ he manages finally.

 

‘You won’t for much longer,’ John snaps, ‘not without my help.’

 

‘And why should you care about me?’ Sherlock asks, managing at least to make it sound remotely like flirting.

 

‘It is my job to protect the civilians,’ John replies, staring straight at Sherlock. Sherlock visibly swallows and licks his lips, making a small sound John thinks is another, ‘Oh,’ before regaining his ability to speak.

 

‘You had better take me somewhere safe then,’ Sherlock says and John has to turn away so he can smile without spoiling the illusion.

 

‘Right. This way,’ John commands when he manages to compose himself again. ‘Make sure you stay close,’ he adds, gripping Sherlock’s wrist tighter before dragging him towards the stairs. ‘I want you in front of me at all times.’

 

‘But…’ Sherlock starts to protest, but John cuts across him.

 

‘That’s an order!’ John barks and Sherlock jumps despite himself.

 

Then John’s not sure what happened but he’s been pushed up against the nearest wall and Sherlock’s whole body is trying to fuck him through his uniform.

 

‘God, John…’ Sherlock moans before delving his tongue into John’s mouth and fisting his hands into John’s lapels. John decides to go with the flow and places his hands on Sherlock’s arse, sliding himself up against the wall so he can align their hips before pulling Sherlock roughly into him. Sherlock keens as John thrusts against him, pulling away from his lips to gasp for breath.

 

‘Oh God, John,’ Sherlock breathes as he runs his hands over the material of John’s uniform.

 

John slides his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and pulls, gaining him a delectable low groan as Sherlock starts panting into his ear.

 

‘Fuck me,’ Sherlock begs. ‘For God’s sake, fuck me!’ John tries his best to ignore Sherlock’s desperate pleas, trying to focus on his plan. A plan that involves getting Sherlock up the flight of stairs and into his room. A plan that John obviously didn’t put much thought into because there was no way in hell he was going to be able to drag Sherlock upstairs.

 

John tries to summon up his commanding voice once more but Sherlock crushes his lips to his before he manages to get a word out, his tongue slightly too enthusiastic for John to be able to keep up with.

 

Sherlock’s hand finds its way inside John’s shirt and pulls out his dog tags, holding onto them tightly in his fist and pulling so John is forced to lean forward. The soldier thinks he can use this to his advantage and tries to back Sherlock up the stairs, but Sherlock forgets how to walk and ends up tripping over himself, pulling John down on top of him as he lands on the stairs.

 

‘Shit,’ John swears but Sherlock continues to writhe beneath him and John thinks he doesn’t even realize he’s fallen.

 

John grabs Sherlock’s wrists and pins them on the step above his head, making Sherlock groan and arch his back, rubbing himself against any part of John’s body he can reach.

 

‘Christ,’ John mutters as he glances up at what may as well be a thousand steps between them and his room, and seriously contemplates taking Sherlock on the stairs like he’s begging him to.

 

Somewhere downstairs Mrs Hudson shuts a door and it closes with a loud bang. _Gun fire_ , John thinks as he remembers the game.

 

‘We have to keep moving,’ John says, his commanding voice suffering from his breathlessness. ‘We’re still in danger.’

 

‘Danger can be fun,’ Sherlock moans, pressing himself up more firmly into John’s body and John curses Sherlock because he is really not helping.

 

God knows where John found the strength to tear himself away from his lust fuelled lover and climb up the stairs, but he manages.

 

‘What are you doing?’ Sherlock whines. ‘Where are you going?’

 

‘To safety. You’re going to get us killed.’ John berates, trying to glare as Sherlock pouts at him.

 

‘Your first priority should be to keep the civilian safe,’ Sherlock says, narrowing his eyes.

 

‘Well if the civilian wants to be safe, he better get his arse into my bunker. Now!’ Sherlock hisses at John’s command, snaking his hand down to cup himself through his trousers, set, it seems, on defying John’s order.

 

‘For fuck’s sake,’ John says to himself, allowing himself one squeeze through his combat trousers before calling out, ‘Sherlock, you’ve got ten seconds otherwise I’m going to tie you to my bed and make you watch as I jerk off. The uniform will come off and the dog tags will be put away and I shan’t touch you until I think you’ve learnt to follow orders. Now move!’

 

That was apparently the right thing to say for Sherlock scrambles up the stairs and follows John obediently to his room.

 

‘After you,’ John whispers, dragging Sherlock in front of him and nodding towards the door. Sherlock shoots him a suspicious look and John knows he knows something’s afoot.

 

What John didn’t know was how Sherlock was going to react to it, but based on how well things had turned out so far, he figures it will be fine.

 

Sherlock makes a small noise in the back of his throat – that if John hadn’t known better, he would have thought it a whimper – as he looks around at John’s slightly made over room. John had dragged his old army trunk out of his wardrobe and set it at the foot of his bed, placing its contents all over the place in an attempt to make the room look more military. It seems to have been enough for Sherlock as John had barely closed his door before he had an armful of consulting detective.

 

Sherlock starts fisting his hands into John’s uniform again, dropping his head to John’s neck and toying with the chain of the dog tags with his tongue. It takes John a few seconds to realize Sherlock has actually jumped up and wrapped his legs around him.

 

‘Christ, Sherlock,’ John hisses. ‘You’re too light. How much do you weigh?’

 

Sherlock makes an impatient noise. ‘Irrelevant. Just fuck me.’

 

John carries Sherlock to his bed, made up to military standard, and drops him onto the mattress, following him down so he can ravish his mouth.

 

Sherlock squirms as John starts to pull the buttons on his shirt free. ‘Don’t worry about the shirt,’ Sherlock begs, trying desperately to drag John’s hands down to the button on his trousers. John smirks against Sherlock’s lips before complying, pulling the garment down Sherlock’s thighs and finally off his legs. While the man kicks his feet free, John continues his interrupted work on Sherlock’s shirt, making Sherlock sit up with the enticement of a kiss so he can push the garment off this shoulders. The detective wraps an arm around John’s neck and grabs hold of his dog tags with his free hand, opening his mouth to pull John’s bottom lip between his teeth.

 

‘Fuck me,’ Sherlock begs again, lying back down on the mattress, trying to pull John on top of him but John doesn’t let him.

 

‘Undress me,’ John commands and Sherlock growls, pushing John away from the bed so he can stand in front of him. Sherlock’s so obviously desperate for this and John can’t help smirking, almost breaking into a low chuckle as Sherlock starts rutting up against him while trying to undo the buttons on John’s uniform.

 

‘It’s not worth your life if you tear one of those off,’ John warns as Sherlock starts to lose his patience with the somewhat unco-operating buttons. Sherlock audibly swallows, hands hesitating on John’s shirt before he decides to change tactic and starts kissing John’s throat, slowly – carefully – easing the buttons open and descending down John’s chest with his lips, kissing each new bit of exposed flesh.

 

John lets out a lungful of air, watching Sherlock intently as he picks up the dog tags with his tongue and sucks them into his mouth – and fuck if that image didn’t go straight to John’s groin. John reaches down and threads his fingers through Sherlock’s untamed curls, pulling him up for a kiss. It’s awkward and messy with the dog tags still in Sherlock’s mouth and John wonders briefly how Sherlock puts up with the taste of metal, but it’s heated none the less and Sherlock’s an absolute panting mess by the time John’s finished with him.

 

But Sherlock holds on, refusing to drop the dog tags and in fact starts to take the rest of the chain into his mouth, mouthing at it until he reaches John’s neck before dropping suddenly to his knees, letting the chain slip from between his lips as he goes. It’s cold and wet against John's flushed skin, but he doesn't have time to think about it, not when Sherlock starts using his teeth to undo his trousers.

 

God, Sherlock’s mouth is too skilled for its own good.

 

John’s hand still twisted in Sherlock’s hair pulls him closer as Sherlock finally makes his way past John’s fly. He’d purposely neglected his underwear for this particular scene and is ever so grateful for it when Sherlock’s lips wrap directly around his cock.

 

Sherlock’s mouth is hot as he swallows John down, but his enthusiasm is lacked and John can tell he’s too eager for the fuck to put much effort into the foreplay. Soldier Watson wants to punish Sherlock for this, tie him up, torment and drag him mercilessly to the edge before leaving him there, but John’s just too damn keen to be inside him to even bother thinking about it.

 

‘Up,’ John says, pulling on Sherlock’s hair and pushing him back down onto the mattress. Sherlock goes willingly, lying on the bed with his legs hanging off the side, spread wide so John can stand in between them. Say what you like about how short John is, he’s the perfect height to fuck Sherlock standing up when Sherlock’s lying on the bed (or on the kitchen table for that matter).

 

John moves to finish Sherlock’s half-arsed job at removing his uniform but it appears the man has other ideas.

 

‘Leave it on,’ Sherlock breathes, grabbing a hold of the lapels. He looks so needy spread out beneath John like this that John complies and leans down to kiss him, his dog tags falling onto Sherlock’s chest making Sherlock buck against him.

 

‘How much trouble would you be in for taking advantage of a civilian?’ Sherlock pants across John’s cheek, still obviously lost in the role play.

 

‘Lots,’ John replies simply. ‘But you won’t be telling anyone.’ He lowers his voice just enough to give the illusion of a threat, and judging by the moan it pulls from Sherlock’s throat, John’s hit upon the right answer.

 

John reaches between them and grips both their cocks, rocking into his hand with each slow pump to rub his uniform clad thighs against Sherlock’s sensitive skin.

 

‘No!’ Sherlock gasps, digging his fingertips into John’s biceps. ‘I’m too close… please just… _please_.’ Sherlock’s begs die out around John’s fingers as he sticks two in Sherlock’s mouth, pressing down slightly on his tongue to shut him up.

 

‘Christ, Sherlock,’ John breaths, rummaging through his pockets with his spare hand, looking for the little bottle of lubricant he’d planted there earlier and trying his best to ignore Sherlock’s tongue working on his fingers.

 

John spills most of the lubricant on the bed sheets, cursing as he’s left with barely enough to slick his cock, but it’ll do. It’ll have to. John removes his fingers from Sherlock’s mouth with a wet pop, sliding the saliva slickened digits into Sherlock’s entrance and using them to prepare his lover. Sherlock keens again and arches his back, his head pressing into the mattress as John stretches him open.

 

‘I don’t care how quickly you come,’ John tries his best to sound domineering (he’s a little too breathless for that), ‘I’m going to continue to use you until my needs are met.’

 

‘Yessss,’ Sherlock hisses, grabbing fistfuls of sheets and curling his toes, crying out as John pushes in. John’s hardly gentle about it but Sherlock’s frantic tugging at his collar trying to pull him in for a rough kiss is more than enough indication that Sherlock wants it hard and fast.

 

Teeth pull and bite almost painfully at John’s bottom lip as he sets his pace, withdrawing almost all the way out before slamming back, hard enough to make Sherlock whimper. Sherlock’s hand has found John’s dog tags again, and his fingers tangle in the chain, tightly enough that John feels he’s on the verge of choking. He doesn’t care. Sherlock is so tight and making the most delicious noises, that John just really can’t bring himself to care. Sherlock shamelessly spreads his thighs wider, allowing John to push in deeper and get his angle just right, causing Sherlock to cry out against John’s lips.

 

‘Don’t come on my uniform,’ John warns and Sherlock’s whole body shudders.

 

‘Is… is that an order, Captain?’ Sherlock pants, hoarsely, eyes closed as he begins to rock his hips against John’s.

 

‘Yes,’ John growls against Sherlock’s throat and that’s it for his lanky lover. Sherlock cries out loudly as he comes, his orgasm hitting him like a tidal wave and making his whole body shake. He thrashes beneath John as John continues to thrust in and out of Sherlock’s arse, fucking him roughly through his orgasm.

 

Once Sherlock is thoroughly spent, John pulls out, giving Sherlock a second to catch his breath as he takes off his shirt. John ignores Sherlock’s half-hearted attempts at protesting about the removal of the garment and climbs onto the bed, cursing the fact he was still wearing his boots because he really couldn’t spare the time to take them off now. He was just glad Sherlock never wore any shoes unless it was absolutely necessary otherwise they would have looked rather foolish.

 

John kneels in the middle of the bed, sitting on his heels and gesturing for Sherlock to come over. Sherlock manages to pick himself up and crawls his way to John, climbing into his lap to face him and sitting himself down on his cock. John catches his bottom lip in between his teeth to stop himself from crying out as Sherlock slides all the way down his erection, moaning as John starts to thrust again, not quite as hard as before but enough to get him off without irritating Sherlock’s over-sensitised body.

 

‘Turn around,’ John whispers, biting softly on Sherlock’s ear.

 

‘But…’ Sherlock protests, his eyelids fluttering as John grabs his wrist tightly and pulls his hand away from his dog tags yet again.

 

‘Turn around,’ John says more strongly.

 

It’s better this way round, John can thrust deeper and Sherlock’s hands can wander over the camouflage material still covering John’s thighs, his back pressing against John’s chest to imprint the outline of the dog tags on their skin.

 

John wraps his arms around Sherlock’s thin frame, one hand on his chest and the other trailing down to curl around his cock. It’s no surprise really that Sherlock’s hard again and already leaking pre-cum. Sherlock turns his head for a kiss and gathers some strength to meet John’s thrusts, bringing himself down hard enough on John’s cock to make them both moan greedily into each other’s mouths.

 

‘Fuck,’ John breathes, dropping his head to Sherlock’s shoulder as Sherlock grinds down and starts rotating his hips. ‘Oh fuck…’ John opens his mouth against Sherlock’s neck, tasting the salt as he breathes in Sherlock’s scent mixed with the tang of sex. Sherlock moans as John’s teeth catch his skin, tightening his grip on John’s thighs as John tightens the grip on his cock, pumping in time with his trusts until Sherlock can’t take anymore. He throws his head back onto John’s shoulder and lets out a throaty moan, spending himself again, over John’s hand. Sherlock pulls John with him over the edge and John stills, his cock pulsing deep inside Sherlock as he curses into his neck. They pause to suck in a lungful of air before falling back against the mattress, gasping.

 

‘Fuck,’ they both pant, frozen where they’ve collapsed and absolutely unable to concentrate on anything other than breathing.

 

 John pulls Sherlock close to him and Sherlock willingly tucks his head under his chin, something he never did because he hated letting John ‘dominate’ him like that. Sherlock rests his hand on John’s chest, his fingers idly tracing John’s old scar.

 

‘My brave soldier,’ Sherlock mumbles, and John knows it’s nothing more than the words of a barely conscious man who’s had his mind fucked over with role play, but it stirs something deep inside of him.

 

‘Yeah,’ John whispers, pressing his lips to the top of Sherlock head, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest. ‘Yeah, I am.’

 

********

 

John wakes up tangled in long limbs with Sherlock snoring softly in his ear, which is… different. Sherlock usually disappears during the night, or at least retreats to the other side of bed, so waking up with the man wrapped around him was nice, if not a bit, well… annoying. Sherlock was radiating heat and was positioned in such a way that John was hot and uncomfortable and unable to move. In all honesty, John would have left it, ignored the discomfort and just appreciated waking up close to his lover, but he really had to go to the bathroom.

 

Five minutes it took John to pry Sherlock off him, and another two to make Sherlock relinquish his grip on the dog tags. Christ, that man was strong even when he was sleeping.

 

John hops down from the bed and instantly realizes the reason his feet feel so strange is because he’s still wearing his boots. He shakes his head at himself and grabs his canteen to fill up with water – his old army one he’d placed on the bedside table – and heads off to the bathroom.  

 

Sherlock’s sitting up when John returns, rubbing his eyes and yawning, still completely naked and unashamedly on display.

 

‘Morning.’ John smiles before taking a sip from his canteen, scratching his bare chest as he stretches. Sherlock takes a second to focus, staring at John blankly for a moment before it all comes flooding back. It’s like someone flipped a switch because suddenly Sherlock is wide awake and drinking in the image of John in nothing but his army trousers, boots and dog tags.

 

‘Let me take a photo,’ Sherlock whispers, still staring at John.

 

‘I’m sorry. What?’ John asks, watching as Sherlock jumps into life and starts sifting through the clothes that had been discarded carelessly the night before. He grabs his phone from his trouser pocket and holds it up, obviously trying to find the camera setting. John feels slightly self-conscious, which he knows is stupid (Sherlock’s seen him naked hundreds of times), but tries to hide it because Sherlock’s looking at him with hungry eyes again and the man is just so damn fuckable when he’s needy like this.

 

‘Did you want me to pose?’ John asks making Sherlock huff.

 

‘Posing is a stupid novelty only idiots indulge in and…’ Sherlock trails off as John sticks his foot up on the army trunk, leaning forward over his bent knee and looking directly at Sherlock.

 

‘You were saying?’ he asks.

 

‘Hold that pose,’ Sherlock replies, licking his lips. He takes a couple of photos before throwing his phone aside. ‘Perfect,’ he mumbles, reaching his arms out to John. ‘Now come here and fuck me again.’

 

John laughs and drops his canteen onto the trunk, moving over to where Sherlock is kneeling on the bed. He pulls him in for a kiss, pausing slightly he Sherlock’s hand rests over his scar.

 

‘What?’ Sherlock asks as John’s pulse rises for no real reason. Christ, Sherlock had practically been half-dead when he said it. He didn’t mean it.

 

‘Nothing,’ John tries to smile, but Sherlock’s unconvinced. Sherlock sighs and moves his lips to John’s shoulder, gently kissing his war wound.

 

‘Yes, I think you’re brave,’ Sherlock murmurs against John’s skin, ‘if not a bit foolish.’ Sherlock looks up at him. ‘It’s obvious you’re a soldier and…’ Sherlock takes a deep breath. ‘And I’m hoping you’ll let me call you mine.’

 

John reaches out and threads his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. It’s the closest Sherlock has ever come to saying he loved him.

 

‘It took mind-blowing sex in a uniform to get you to discover you loved me?’ John grins against Sherlock’s lips.

 

‘The sex was…’ Sherlock smiles before continuing, ‘irrelevant to my feelings, I’ve had them a while now. You merely gave me a chance to express them. I rather doubt if I’d called you “my cuddly doctor” it would have had the same effect.’

 

John laughs and leans forward again to crush his lips to Sherlock’s. ‘I love you too.’ Sherlock lies down and pulls John on top of him.

 

‘You’re not going to show that picture to anyone, are you?’ John asks.

 

‘As if I would,’ Sherlock replies and John is foolish to think that means Sherlock won’t.

 

 

By the end of the week, ‘Soldier Johnny’ is fed up with the nickname Lestrade’s team has given him and by hell does he make Sherlock pay for it… although he doubts Sherlock really saw being tied to the bed with army knots punishment…


End file.
